Saturday, January 19, 2008

Swallowed in the Sea

Coldplay, the soothing end to a long day, right before bed. It was a long day. A lecture at SOAS, a drizzling drink on a roadside bench, followed by The Social, famed for being the club/bar where the Chemical Brothers were ‘discovered’. Grease, Young Hearts Run Free, followed by Walk like an Egyptian, the hit of my birth year (thanks to my baby book) made up for watching drunk people and stepping on sticky floors and broken glass for a few hours. And the company made up for it. It’s funny how everyone is overly considerate towards me whenever we go out for drinks. Everyone asks me if I am okay, one by one, repeatedly, as if I am going through some kind of torture. My music was enough, plus I like observing people -anthropology at its best. And I’ve never felt the desire to drink, nor will. Its just one of those things that never ever struck my curiosity.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

(n-1)

Today, everything happened an hour before it was meant to happen. Because of that one lapse in time, like the butterfly effect, the whole day started off a bit haphazard. I woke up at 11am way in time to be able to get ready for my 1 'o clock class, and have a decent breakfast/lunch. I ended up talking to Saif for a bit too long, finalising details of my laptop fixing session and realized it was 12:45pm in no time. Donning my shins t-shirt and rust scarf, I ran up to the kitchen for a quick bite before heading to RHB 137.

Not wanting to stand on the stool to reach the top shelf of my kitchen cabinet, I jumped slightly to grab the cereal box, instead, knocking over a full bag of flour, left over by Kim from pancake night, ALL over me, the counter and the floor. With Aphro hysterically mopping the floor (flour), Jennie providing loo roll tissues for the counter and me hysterically getting flour out of my eyebrows and ears, I was able to gobble a bowl of golden nuggets (this over meetha, but yummy nestle cereal) and make it to class exactly at 1.

Only to realize everyone was leaving. Was it a fire-alarm? Did class get cancelled?

No.

Class is at 12 you idiot, not 1.

Compensation of the day: Found and successfully got rid of 359 virus files off Sanchez, and got a free, personally signed book written by my Professor :)

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

My Best Surprise

"You're Sylvia Plath
As you drift from the bath.
I hand you a robe
And so it goes,
The moment'll pass.

You're Simone de Beauvoir
As you get out the car.
The way you read me,
No one can see me
Is you are.

You're Nina Simone
When you talk on the phone.
You sing to me
And I'm truly
No longer alone.

You're Mary Cassatt
When people tell you you're not.
You're like a child.
All the while I need you a lot.

And I wanna know what you know
And I wanna go where you go
These things remind me of
These things remind me of
These things remind me of you. "

To the smiling face that taught me so many things. To live, love, write and beleive in myself. For the books, black marker notes in my wallet, scented candles, birthday dances, red fleece hugs, midnight fettuccini and yellow cake. For apple tea, terrace escapes, star-watching, truck driving, and happy meals. For my childhood. For Shannon the secretary, the disgruntled nurse and her insatiable patient, bicycle homes, hot pink umbrella houses, cardboard box houses, fisher price bench houses, fisher price kitchen houses, behind the lounge sofa houses, on ammis honda roof houses, and goopy latoo houses. For goopy latoo. For being my source of all knowledge, from swear words, to sarcastic expressions, to poetry, to the birds and bees. Everything. For being the only person in the world, who means it when she says 'I'll keep your secret'. For your trusting, non0judgemental ways, that make you so pure. And sometimes vulnerable.

All my love, to the one who hollers from the other room so I can switch off her lights at night. My night light. My sparkfly. My starfish. My rainbow. My Squin.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Morning Ramblings

“One day I'll be wondering how
I got so old just wondering how
I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow.”


It seemed like the longest day ever, and typing without a D key is not helping this cause either. Virused and Spywared Sanchez is not the most pleasant force to reckon with, but I shall find myself a techie soon and all will be fine. For the present, lets just hope this miracle called the internet at 8 in the morning, in bed, stays just a little bit longer.

My Anthropology of Rights professor looks like Clark Kent. And not only in the partially geeky, spectacled, middle-parted-hair way, but even the look in his eye; you’ll believe me if you see him, as Taka said. My second class of the week is in 2 hours, but I feel like revisiting - my inspiration to write catches me at the wrong times. Like when I was on my way to Bahrain airport at 7am, with 4 smelly men who kept burping incessantly throughout the flight (in retaliation, I hogged the armrest!), and was itching to write, much to the shock of everyone sitting around me (yes you, iPhone boy), I ended up scribbling furiously on the (empty, unused) barf bag with my faithful Picasso.

Maybe I have gone into anthropologist mode, or so I’d like to think, but I notice people much more than I used to. For instance, the Ms. Farzana easy-Urdu teacher’s reincarnated version, with a camel back and spotted skin, who kept calling up her family at 7am to make sure the driver got home safely. Or the slightly dotty, doctor turned medical marketing manager, who left her 7 month old son behind to work in London. Or the uncle who kept complaining about how corrupt Pakistan is and married Birmingham Diaspora, to live his whole life in Marylebone, with a son who has 4 electric guitars, and a piano playing daughter. Or the Lebanese looking Desi whose mother kept insisting he take my phone number, in response to which he kept repeating ‘mai maafi chahta hoon’ within earshot. Lol.

I watched the nanny diaries on the plane, and prefer PIA’s entertainment interface to Gulf Air’s any day. Also, another few kgs doesn’t do anyone any harm, except the knees. Especially when you have a crushed cartilage. Nevertheless, the nanny goes on to study anthropology, and I think it’s the first time we have gotten publicity in mainstream films, in a really long time, especially in the form of Scarlet Johansson. Cool.

If lugging a 21 kilo suitcase-on-wheels down the tubes isn’t enough, you have to be me. After skipping the overcrowded jubilee line for an emptier carriage, I met an equally disgruntled passenger with two suitcases. We collectively decided to take the strategic spot before the double doors and squeezed into the closing doors upon second chance. Or so I thought. He got in and then helped me with my suitcase, but by the time I stepped onto the one-fifth of an inch of standing space, I got stuck. Stuck between the closing doors - backpack and all. It probably sounded really funny, in retrospect, when I repeated ‘Im stuck!’ about 5 times, slightly panicked by the thought of flying through the underground tunnels half in, half out. But after some major door-jamming and pulling, I was inside, partly mortified, partly traumatized, but angry at the apathy of the fucking goras who just stood there and stared, waiting for me to get crushed. Remind me to thank the Jordanian guy.

As I stepped out on platform 2, New Cross Gate, the fresh air burst into my lungs, and surprisingly, I felt great. The wind had the perfect crispness and chill to it, the sky was bright and the construction barriers had been removed. It felt comforting to be back, to the alien neighborhood where I spent the last few (n-1) months of my time. It gave me a good start, for my new year’s resolution, to live life more, stay in less, read more, eat less, listen more, learn even more and find happiness in the smallest of things.

These are the days.